It was a lie, though one which the residents of the nearby area would no doubt appreciate. They wouldn’t even reach Silke for another few days. Damon waited until the men pulled the palisades out of their way and gathered their meager belongings before walking back to the carriage and climbing inside.
“Nicely done,” said Wrath. She set her hand on his knee and gave it a small, suggestive squeeze. “Except, what happens if the men get the idea to follow us and attack us during the night?”
“You underestimate how easily most men falter in the face of intimidation.”
Wrath leaned closer to him, her azure eyes as cold and unforgiving as the winter itself. “Most men?”
He nodded slowly, not looking away. “Most men.”
CHAPTER 18
Even with a carriage drawn by Famine’s corrupted horses, Damon and the others were still bound by the fundamentals of their journey. They found a spot atop a hill which the wind had kept mostly clear of snow to camp for the night.
The carriage had a back compartment which, apart from being where they’d stuffed some of their supplies, was also replete with firewood. Lilian helped Damon build a generously sized bonfire. It revealed their position, but so did the carriage, which was impossible to hide.
He got his answer to what the horses would feed on when Wrath unhooked both of the massive beasts and let them run off into the woods. She saw Damon’s interest and grinned at him.
“They’ll be back by morning with bloody teeth and bulging bellies,” she said. “It’s more of a convenience than a hindrance. Eating meat keeps them strong, full of muscle and spunk.”
“I’m sure whatever they choose to make into their prey will see it decidedly differently,” he countered.
She gave him that smile again, the one which left Damon wondering if she was warming to him or had written him off as someone she’d need to kill.
Vel and Kastet were both shivering to the point of chattering teeth by the time he got the fire going. It gave off an amount of warmth that bordered on wasteful, but they’d only be in the snow for another day or two before reaching the coast, where the weather was consistently mild.
Wrath had also brought food and a metal camping spit. She set up the haunch of what must have been an impressively large boar to cook over the fire. Damon set up his tent and helped Vel with hers, and then took a seat around their simple camp site.
“Those bandits were truly vile,” said Kastet. “To be out attempting to extort innocent travelers in such oppressive weather. I cannot so much as fathom their motivation.”
“They seemed desperate to me, more than anything,” said Vel.
Wrath pulled the meat down from the fire and started cutting thick slices, still steaming in the cold, onto pieces of bread for ease of serving. She passed Damon his portion, and he had to resist the urge to wolf it down in one bite.
“It isn’t just desperation that lands men into such roles,” he said. “They learned a trade, much like everyone does. It just so happens their trade is in the business of violence, intimidation, and criminal opportunities.”
“You sound like you relate to them, on a certain level,” said Lilian.
That brought a chuckle out of him, but he couldn’t simply deny it. “I think I do, in some ways. I’ve been very lucky throughout my life. I occasionally wonder what path I might have gone down with my father’s debts weighing over me if I hadn’t been so fortunate.”
There was a pause in the conversation, and Damon was left wondering if the others were picturing him as a wandering bandit, or perhaps curious at his mention of his father. He didn’t often talk about Danio, now Wyden Starch. It wasn’t a pleasant topic of discussion for him.
“I would argue that we hold responsibility for each and every choice we make in life,” Wrath said. “It’s a weak dismissal to treat our destinies as though they’re set in stone by the fates.”
“That’s an easier belief to hold when you never really die,” he pointed out. “None of your choices are permanent in the same way, are they?”
A flicker of anger crossed Wrath’s expression, but she didn’t counter Damon’s accusation in the way he might have expected.
“Is that how you see it?” she eventually said. “In some ways, I envy you for death.”
Damon wasn’t the only one around the fire who scoffed at the statement. Kastet was practically rolling her eyes as she nibbled on the corner of her bread and pork.
“I mean it,” said Wrath. “Whatever choices you make, whatever regrets you have, eventually… they come to a definite end. None of it is permanent for you. Even the most intolerable paths through existence will fade to ash and bone.”
He would have argued against that point, if not for the tone of Wrath’s voice. She didn’t sound angry or resentful, just horribly, utterly worn out. She’d lived enough lives to say such a thing and mean it in a way that was hard to hear. If she’d been anyone else, Damon wouldn’t have resisted the urge to express his sympathy.
They finished their meal and began prepping for bed, letting the fire die down into a massive pile of crackling embers. The ghost moon was out, shining down across the reflective snow with enough intensity to tint the world green, making the night feel false and alien.
Damon gave a different sort of goodnight to each of his traveling companions. With Wrath, it was sort of an indifferent nod, a passing acknowledgment as she made her way toward the carriage, which she’d taken for herself.
He checked in with Kastet more in the manner of a retainer, making sure her needs were met as she climbed into her tent. Lilian gave him a hug, subtly sniffing his neck, eyes lingering in possible hopes of him inviting her to feed.
Vel would never have allowed it, annoying next to the fact that she also seemed impartial to joining him in his tent. Damon kissed her as he hugged her goodnight, finding her lips with his, heedless of being seen.
“Damon,” she said, voice equal parts annoyed and flirtatious. “Not tonight. Not with my friends here.”
“You’re going to get awfully cold in your tent by yourself,” he whispered.
She shrugged. “So, I’ll get cold. Can you at least wait until we reach Silke and have a proper room for, um… you know?”
Damon’s hands slid down to her butt, and he spent a generous amount of time groping it through her thick winter leggings. “If that’s how you feel, then so be it. I’ll leave my tent flap unlocked, regardless.”
“Mmm, hilarious,” she said dryly. “Goodnight, Damon. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
They kissed again, and Damon got his tongue deep enough into her mouth to start to think she might still be convinced. She gave him a soft push on the chest and began stepping through the snow toward her own tent.
He sighed and resigned himself to a normal, boring night’s sleep.
***
Damon awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of someone silently slipping into his tent, creeping over him with careful movements like a cat on the prowl. He kept his eyes closed, curious about what Vel would do if he teased her by forcing her into taking the initiative.
She went straight for his undershorts. Damon was comfortable enough in the cold that he’d only worn those to bed. He felt Vel pulling them down, and then heard her scrambling out of her own clothing with surprising speed. It was one thing for her to seek him out during the night, but she usually did it under the guise of “being too cold” or “unable to sleep”. This time, she was getting straight to the point.
Something hot and wet closed over the tip of his cock. Damon let out a reflexive groan. He’d already been partially hard, and the sensation of his tool stirring to life inside Vel’s tight little mouth was enough to make his heart race with arousal.
“True Divine, Vel,” he muttered. “What happened to needing a room?”
There was a lewd pop as her mouth left his prick, followed by a beautiful, but derisive laugh.
“Interesting guess,” wh
ispered Wrath. “No, as it happens, your sister is not your horniest traveling companion on this particular night.”
“Wrath,” he said, feeling a mixture of emotions. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“This.” She licked him, her tongue doing glorious work as she gently caressed the rest of his package with warm fingers.
Damon groaned, reaching out to run his hand along her cheek on reflex. She wasn’t like other women, and he knew she wouldn’t let him simply grab a fistful of her hair and lead her around like a slut.
Wrath started sucking again, one hand pressed against his thigh, while the other began running up his chest. He knew she was making a point in the way she used him. It wasn’t just about sex, but about the fact that she could come into his tent, into his room, at any time and force him into this seduction. It was an encounter that strode into that murky territory by its very nature. Damon could tell her no if he wanted to, but did he trust that she’d listen?
The question became irrelevant as Wrath took his cock deeper into her mouth and the pleasure flooding through him pushed into needy, compelling territory. She could do incredible things with that mouth and those lips, despite them so often being pinched into a harsh line or a dangerous scowl.
He was less than surprised when she stopped and shifted to straddle him. The pause left him free of the fugue of his own lust for long enough to voice the obvious question, the one he should have thought of earlier.
“You think you can seduce me into accepting your crest, then, Clara?”
She didn’t stop moving, taking his cock in between two of her fingers and gently sliding it into her lane. “I offered you my crest already. You refused. I’m not the kind of woman who gets caught up on disappointment.”
They both gasped in unison as she dropped her hips down hard, taking his entire length as though trying to prove a point. Her toned buttocks smacked against his crotch with a terrific, elastic clap. Damon ran his hands up her body, marveling at the size and tautness of her breasts.
“Then why are you here?” he asked.
“Why does it matter to you?”
He had to acknowledge that it was a fair question. She was impulsive, so much like he was, despite being so different, so incomprehensible. He groped her ass as she rode him, limiting the movements of her hips. For an instant, he thought she might choose that moment to simply end him… but she didn’t. She let him lead.
He ran a hand through her hair, marveling at how it felt like any other woman’s, despite its wild color. Gently, but firmly, he pulled her face down until her lips met his. They shared a kiss that felt far too sweet to belong to either of them. Damon caressed one of Wrath’s buttocks and took hold of her waist, slowly guiding her up to speed as she began to ride.
Her breathing was irregular, tiny gasps and pleasured groans. Damon could see her breasts moving out of tandem with her body, lagging an instant behind as she began to pick up real speed. They weren’t being quiet, and he wondered if it was a choice on her part or just an inevitable facet of their mutual lust.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Rock those hips.”
“You…” she snarled. “You think you can…?”
Her question died off as Damon put some more muscle into his arms, genuinely lifting her weight as she continued her erotic rhythm. Wrath made a noise as though regaining her composure and leaned forward, presumably to get in his face and glare. He kissed her again, mixing aggression with passion.
She let out a tiny gasp, high-pitched, vulnerable almost. Her hips moved faster but with smaller movements, and she didn’t pull away from him. Damon wrapped his arms together, and the moment verged on a level of gentle intimacy that seemed so opposite to how Wrath was in any other context.
“Damon,” she whispered, shuddering against him.
Her womanhood clamped down on his tool, and he felt like grinning and gloating. Wrath became as pliable as fresh clay. He shifted her down onto the bedroll, lifting her hips up, and drove his cock deep into her from behind.
He took her with an accelerating rhythm, letting the sound of hips clapping against her ass echo out into the cold night. She was Wrath, and she could take anything he threw at her and more.
He could be as rough as he wanted, but he didn’t just want to be rough. It was more about the exertion, the sensation, like running at full tilt, or reaching the perfect flow state in the midst of a fight. The pleasure was unreal, and the sound of Wrath’s breathless moans was egregiously erotic.
Damon grunted and pulled her hair as he came inside her. He felt a hand as strong and tight as metal close around his wrist, disentangling his fingers from her beautiful blue locks.
“You’re beginning to push your luck,” she whispered.
“It wasn’t luck that brought you here tonight.” He thrust into her one last time and heard her stifle a surprised gasp.
CHAPTER 19
Wrath wasn’t one for cuddling, and she left Damon’s tent shortly after they’d finished their dirty business. He awoke the next morning to the bright sun shining down on piercingly white snow. Vel and Kastet were both eating breakfast next to the carriage, which housed a sunlight-averse Lilian.
“Good morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”
The looks that Vel and Kastet gave him made the question seem like a bad joke. Vel glared at him so deeply that it seemed genuinely comical. Kastet’s face was similarly annoyed, though with an extra hint of intrigue and an ounce of concern.
“No, Damon,” said Vel. “I, personally, had an awful night’s sleep.”
He could handle Kastet being irritated with him, but souring his relationship with Vel wasn’t on his agenda.
“Talk to me,” he said. “Please?”
He set a hand on Vel’s lower back and gently guided her away from the princess. Their boots crunched through the top layer of snow, leaving a trail of indentations in their wake. They found a spot on the edge of the hill next to a boulder. Vel hugged her arms across her chest as a chilly wind picked up.
“Why?” she whispered.
“There is no good reason why,” he said. “You know how I am, Vel. We’ve been through this before.”
“Was it Lilian?” she asked, cheeks flushed from the cold. “She was coy when Kastet and I brought it up.”
He gave a small shake of his head. “Wrath.”
Her expression softened slightly. Damon held her hand, wishing he could do or say more to help with what she was feeling. Calling it jealousy seemed like putting a simple label on a much more complicated emotion.
“Vel, it was just sex,” he said. “You, Ria… aesta. You all come first in my heart. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’m simply trying to navigate, well… this.”
He gestured to the carriage. Kastet leaned against one of the wheels, deep in a quiet discussion with Lilian, who sat on a bench within. Wrath had summoned the horses and was tying them into their harnesses.
“Are you going to take her crest?” asked Vel.
“I’ve already turned it down,” he said. “More than once, if you count the time she offered it to me as part of a deal.”
Vel leaned her head sideways and let out a sigh. “If I see you kissing her, or making eyes at her as we continue this journey, I… It’s going to…”
He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss followed by a long hug. “It isn’t like that. Trust me.”
***
The next few days passed in a predictable, uneventful rhythm. Damon and the others traveled by carriage to the southeast. The weather warmed quickly as they approached Veridan’s Curve, and eventually, they left the snow altogether.
It was still winter, and temperatures dropped low enough at night to necessitate campfires and warm clothing, but simply having hard ground underfoot doubled the speed of their progress. On the morning of the fourth day, the city of Silke came into view on the horizon.
“Have you been to Silke before, Damon?” asked Vel.
They were sitting on one of
the carriage’s benches together. Damon had his arm around her, and Vel was snuggled into his shoulder.
“A few times,” he said. “It’s pretty.”
Silke was built upon an ancient Remenai coastal city that, at some period in the long distant past, had been submerged by shifting ocean currents. Most of its more well-to-do residents lived within the restored ancient towers, which still jutted above the ocean along the coast like island spires. Gondolas and floating barges moved along the lanes between the towers, many of which were connected by bridges in the levels higher above.
The city’s poorer district sat on the coast itself, a plain Merinian-style town that provided the crops and lumber and, of course, people which the richer tower residents relied upon. Damon had done a few shows with the Gleaming Scythe within one of Silke’s larger inn stages.
They departed from their carriage within the town district. Wrath, who wore a headscarf to cover her distinctive hair, left careful instructions with the stable master about what would be appropriate feed for them. Between her and Lilian, who was so effectively covered by her cloak as to be unidentifiable as a man or a woman, they made for an odd-looking traveling party.
“We’ll need to take one of the gondolas to my friend’s estate,” said Kastet. “Once we’re there, we’ll settle in and seek an audience with the Lord Governor.”
“How are you expecting him to help us, exactly?” asked Damon.
“Truthfully? By staying out of our way.” She drew closer to him as they started down the dirty street. “If we’re going to have any hope at success, we’re going to need a line of funding, not to mention at least a few mercenaries. Possibly a boat, as well, since the easiest way for us to approach Avaricia in secret would be by water.”
“I see,” he said. “It would be impossible for you to assemble all that without drawing the governor’s notice.”
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